Somewhere I Belong
by steelcrash
Summary: The Avengers are going to learn the truth about Earth's involvement with alien species. Avengers/Transformers/Stargate-SG1 crossover.
1. Chapter 1

Somewhere I Belong

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Stargate-SG1 or Transformers. They belong to, respectively, Marvel/Disney, MGM and Hasbro. I am merely taking them for a short spin.

More than six months had passed since the attack on New York, but it was a mostly busy time for Steve Rogers. A few ops with Tony Stark, several with Clint Barton and one with Natasha Romanoff in Moscow. The one with Natasha, that one was almost fun. Almost. He'd had to wear a tux and everything, just like that movie character, James Bond. But that brought back bad memories. Something he doubted he'd ever shake.

There hadn't been a crisis big enough for all of them to fight together, but they still found time a couple of times a month to get together. Movie night or dinner, usually at Stark's, with Pepper Potts organizing the whole thing. A baseball game, or a museum outing. (His idea, one of the more raucous gatherings, thanks to Stark.) It brought a smile to his face. Not much did these days. He filled his downtime with reading, drawing, working out or trying to catch up on everything he missed during his 70 years in the ice. He even took off on the motorcycle a couple of times, hoping to get good and lost again, but Fury or someone always found him. He didn't mind that. It meant he was needed.

Except he was now sitting in a waiting room in SHIELD's New York headquarters, waiting to meet with Fury. Rogers sighed when the SHIELD director entered the room, sitting down across from him

"I have a job for you," Fury said.

"What is it?" Rogers asked.

"I already have one of my best men on it, but I want a second pair of eyes on this op," Fury said. "Yours."

"Can't you send someone else?" Rogers asked.

"Nope. You're going. This is not negotiable, Cap" Fury said. "Agencies that have no idea what they're getting into are fighting for control over this project. The DOD has control right now, but some bureaucrats who think they know better than the men on the ground are trying to shift the situation in their favor."

"What's that got to do with me?" Rogers said.

"I get this one straightened out, and a few well-placed people in some very important agencies are going to owe me some favors," Fury said. "More importantly, you do this for me, I'll owe you."

"How long?"

"A couple of weeks," Fury said. "Why, got plans?"

Rogers glared back.

"A couple of weeks is all I'm asking," Fury said. "Feel things out, tell me how it's going. I need an impartial observer on this one, and you're it. Besides, you need to get out in the world a little more."

"Fine," Rogers said. "When do I leave?"

"Tonight," Fury said, watching Rogers leave.

Rogers was the right one for the job, he just didn't know it yet. Fury had a briefing package downloaded and waiting for Rogers back at his apartment. Seemed to be the best way of getting the point across. Rogers was a good soldier and would do as he was told, most of the time. Fury needed someone he could trust on the op, and Rogers was it, although how much the soldier trusted him was anyone's guess. He and the other Avengers tolerated him, and they were starting to accept the fact they were going to answer to Hill or Jasper Sitwell. Sitwell was working out well, but Fury knew that was likely to change once certain information came to light.

Then there was the more pressing matter—the situation in Nevada. Charlotte Mearing, director of national intelligence, was up to her eyeballs, losing a battle she couldn't win. She'd made a few mistakes, and Fury knew she was trying to make up for it now. At the Pentagon, his old friend Gen. Morshower needed all the support he could get, and by lending his, he hoped it would shift it back where it needed to be. However, a joint op with SHIELD would be mutually beneficial.

88888

The Nevada sunset was fading as the SHIELD quinjet touched down on the tarmac, and Rogers was met by two soldiers.

"Captain Rogers?"

"That's me," he said.

"Follow us."

Shouldering his duffel, Rogers followed them into a hangar where another soldier was waiting.

"I'm Capt. William Lennox," he said, offering a hand in greeting. "You must be Capt. Rogers. It's an honor, sir."

Rogers shook the offered hand.

"I'll give you a ride into town," Lennox said. "We're still renovating quarters here on base, so you'll have to stay somewhere else tonight until we can get the details worked out. I get the feeling you had this all dumped on you, right?"

Rogers nodded in affirmation.

"I know you've met one of the bots—you're lucky Prowl is here on base and not off on an op," Lennox said. "He's out on patrol tonight, but he'll be here in the morning. Any questions?"

"No," Rogers said.

Lennox sighed. They were off to a great start.

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0730 and Rogers was following Lennox around the base, listening as he introduced personnel and pointed out the important places around base, the foremost being the coffee maker in the common room, except Lennox lead him right past it, and outside.

"Prowl will be here in a few minutes to show you around. I have a briefing, but I'll be free in a couple of hours. You need anything, let me know," Lennox said. He clapped the other man on the shoulder, leaving him alone.

Rogers yawned and stretched, taking a look around. The base was starting to wake up, with the sound of vehicles in the distance and people out walking around. All familiar, but he knew it was going to get strange very fast. And from the sound of footsteps, he knew it was beginning. Rogers turned around, watching a 20-foot tall white, black and silver being coming his way. The mechanical being knelt down on one knee.

"Capt. Rogers, it's good to see you again," Prowl said. "You've been well?"

"I've been better," Rogers muttered.

"Do you require sustenance?" Prowl asked.

"Coffee," Rogers said. "Lennox didn't give me a chance to get any."

"He was running late," Prowl said. "The officials in Washington become unhappy if the morning briefing is even a few minutes off schedule. Please, get your coffee and I'll wait here for you."

Rogers walked back inside the hangar, heading for the common area, grabbed a cup of coffee went back outside, where Prowl was bending down to talk to another human, this one in a suit. The soldier sipped his coffee, checking his messages on his phone, and all three were from irate teammates asking where he was. He quickly texted Stark back, telling him he was fine, and on an op, and he'd call him later. When he was finished, he noticed Prowl was giving him an amused look.

"What?" Rogers asked.

"You humans and your gadgets," Prowl said. "You have an unhealthy attachment to them."

"Not this human," Rogers said. "I could do without all the technology. No offense."

"None taken," Prowl said. "Come. There are others you must meet."

Rogers followed the bot into another hangar, down the corridor.

"This is where ops, the med bay and the lab are housed," Prowl said. "As well as some of our living quarters. Not the best arrangement, but it's the best we can do right now."

"What do you mean by that?" Rogers asked.

"Due to the behaviors and skill sets of certain individuals, it's in their best interests to have the lab and med bay reasonably close," Prowl said. "Close enough to deal with any wounds, but not in enough proximity to damage the med bay. Follow me please."

Rogers followed him into what he guessed was the lab, where two more of the mechanical beings were arguing, with one human yelling up at them, with another sitting on the workbench, watching the argument with amusement.

"Wheeljack, Perceptor, we have a guest," Prowl snapped. "What is it this time?"

"Percy said it's my fault we're missing some of our supplies, but I just took inventory yesterday, and there's no way. . ." Wheeljack said.

"I'll look into it," Prowl said. "I can guess where any missing supplies are, and what it's being used for. Capt. Rogers, the mech with the glowing face fins is Wheeljack, one of our finest engineers. Perceptor is a scientist. The human with the glasses is Dr. Daniel Jackson, an archaeologist, and the other is Lt. Col. Cameron Mitchell. This is Capt. Steve Rogers."

Prowl watched as the humans stared at one another, Rogers' face unreadable, Jackson had a slight frown and Mitchell, well, one could never tell. And of course, he was the first to introduce himself to Rogers.

"Call me Cam," Mitchell said, offering a hand, which Rogers shook. "Jackson, don't look so sour. He's just here to do his job."

Jackson sighed, but shook man's hand, then went back to work.

"Nice work in New York," Mitchell said.

"What?"

"Cap," Mitchell said. "Right? What do you prefer to be called."

"Steve," Rogers said.

"Fine," Mitchell said. "Find me if you need anything, OK? I know Lennox probably told you to talk to him, but I've got a little more flexibility and time."

"Sure," Rogers said.

"Overwhelmed yet?" Prowl asked.

"Not yet," he replied.

"Good," Prowl said. "I'll show you ops, and then I'll answer any questions you might have."

They walked down the corridor, around the corner and into the base's nerve center. Except at the moment, it was anything but a calm and professional place.

"By the unmaker I'm going to kill them all. . ." Prowl muttered, looking up at the ceiling. "All right, who is responsible?"  
Five sets of optics were locked on Prowl, one set was looking up at the mech stuck to the ceiling.

"Sideswipe. . ."

"Bluestreak did it," Sideswipe said. "I helped."

"There. Was that so hard?" Prowl asked.

"Not really, not when Sunstreaker is going to kill me later," Sideswipe said.

"Not when you're both in the brig," Prowl said. "Report to Kup after you get your twin down. Hot Rod, Springer, help him. And if you're not all at your posts when I return. . ."

He left the threat open-ended, hoping they'd take the hint. After all, couldn't really threaten his fellow bots in front of the new human.

"How did they duct-tape him to the ceiling?" Rogers said.

"I'll find out," Prowl said. "I'll introduce you to the delinquents when we come back. Right now, there's someone else I want you to meet."

Prowl lead him to another room, where a large bot, the biggest he'd yet seen, was talking to a smaller red one.

"Capt. Rogers, may I introduce you to Optimus Prime and Elita-1?" Prowl said.

The big blue and red flame-covered bot knelt down. "Captain, it's a pleasure to meet you," Optimus said.

"Sir," Rogers said.

"Another human sent to spy," Elita said.

"Elita," Optimus snapped.

"It's the truth, isn't it?" Elita said. "We were told you're not like the rest. I hope that information is correct."

Before Rogers could stammer a reply, Prowl was herding him back outside.

"What the hell was that about?" Rogers said.

"Were you briefed at all on any of this?" Prowl asked.

"I was told to observe, and report back," Rogers said. "I wasn't told anything else."

Prowl vented air in a sigh. "We have much work to do," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere I Belong

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Stargate-SG1 or Transformers. They belong to, respectively, Marvel/Disney, MGM and Hasbro. I am merely taking them for a short spin.

"What was that all about?" Rogers asked.

"How much time do you have?" Prowl asked.

Rogers shrugged. "As long as it takes?"  
"I'll start with the basics," Prowl said. "Optimus Prime is our leader, Elita-1 is his former consort. Elita is unhappy with the caliber of some of the people in charge of deciding our fate here on your planet, current company not included."

"Politicians?" Rogers said.

"How did you guess?" Prowl said, a wry smile on his face.

"I was their dancing monkey once upon a time," Rogers said.

"Since our arrival on Earth, we've been part of the Non-biological Extraterrestrial Species Treaty, or simply known as NEST," Prowl said. "Members of the American and British military and other forces combined with us to form a strike force to deal with incursions of enemy Cybertronians. However, with the destruction of most of our foe, we've been faced with the possible disbanding of NEST. You're here to hopefully prevent that."

"How?" Rogers said.

"We'll figure out something," Prowl said. Ironic, considering his position as second in command chief tactician to the Prime that he didn't have a plan, but he let it slide. "We should go check if ops is back to normal."

They went back inside, and Sunstreaker was indeed removed from the ceiling, and the bots on watch were doing their jobs. At least it looked like it, and Prowl was content with a semblance of protocol. He would take what he could, and mechs knew they would answer to him if they stepped out of line. If not him, then Kup or they would be left to the tender mercies of Elita-1. Most of the mechs had the decency to be terrified of the femme when it came to disciplinary action. He left the special cases to her. She relished dealing with them since Ironhide was gone, and it gave her something to do, and meant Optimus didn't have to deal with the stupidity. Although Prowl sometimes wondered if they shouldn't let their leader deal with it. Optimus had been delegating more and more of his normal duties because of his difficulties with the human authorities.

And speaking of stupid, Hot Rod was trying to catch his optics.

"What?" Prowl snapped.

"Ratchet wants to see you," Hot Rod said. "Don't shoot the messenger."

Prowl's optics narrowed, but he headed toward the med bay, Rogers in tow. He didn't ask many questions. Maybe he didn't think it was polite. Prowl found it refreshing. Not that he didn't enjoy the company of the NEST humans, but sometimes even the best of them tried his patience. So did Ratchet. The tactician steeled himself for whatever Ratchet was going to throw at him, literally and figuratively.

"Capt. Rogers, you might have to duck when we enter," Prowl said. "Ratchet, our chief medical officer, has a temper."  
"So does our team doctor," Rogers said.

Prowl stopped, sparing the human a glance. "Yes, Dr. Banner. I read his file," the tactician said. "We should discuss the similarities between our colleagues when afforded the chance."

"Sure," Rogers said.

Prowl entered the code for the med bay, and the doors parted. He entered, Rogers following behind. Ratchet was standing beside a medical berth, scanning a patient—Bluestreak, Prowl's younger brother.

"Hey Prowler," Bluestreak said. "Sunny caught me, and he was angry, and well, I'm fine, really, but Kup thought otherwise, so here I am and is that. . ."

"Blue, report to Kup when Ratchet is finished," he said.

"Do I have to spend time in the brig?"  
"Don't sound so enthusiastic about it," Prowl said. "How many times have I told you. . ."

"I know," Bluestreak said. "You didn't answer my question. Is that the human that was frozen in the ice?"

"Bluesteak, are we going to have another discussion about tact?" Prowl said, crossing his arms in annoyance.

"Sorry," Bluestreak muttered.

"Bluestreak, this is Capt. Steve Rogers. Capt. Rogers, may I introduce Bluestreak, my younger brother? The green mech beside him is Ratchet, our CMO," Prowl said.

"Does everybody know about me?" Rogers asked.

"It seems we were more prepared for your presence than you were for this mission," Prowl said. "Our liaison is going to hear about this. I'll arrange for a laptop and a summary of our mission reports as well as our operational manual be sent to your hotel."

"More homework," Rogers said, shaking his head.

"Welcome to my world," Prowl said. "The morning briefing should be over, and Lennox would like to speak with you."

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Twenty minutes later, Rogers was in Lennox's office, waiting for the other man to get off the phone. He finally ended the call, frowning at the phone as he slammed down the handset.

"Jackasses," Lennox muttered, remembering he had a guest. "Sorry. It's been rough around here lately. So, are you thoroughly confused yet? Prowl told me you didn't get anything resembling a briefing before you arrived."

"I was given my orders, and that's it," Rogers said.

"By Fury, right?" Lennox said. "No offense, but your boss is one scary son of a bitch."

"Fury isn't my boss," Rogers said. "He's a necessary evil."

"Either way, it doesn't matter. He's made a few promises I hope he can keep," Lennox said.

"Such as?"

"Keeping this operation together, and under the control of people who understand," Lennox said. "There's been talk of disbanding, or assigning certain assets to other agencies for the time being. I don't like either of them. I'm just a soldier, but I'm the human half of the command element, and we've fought too long for something like this to happen."  
"I'm an observer," Rogers said.

"Someone whose opinion could carry some weight, especially with someone like Fury," Lennox said. "Besides, our liaison thought you could offer some much-needed perspective."

"In what way? I'm 70 years behind the times, I barely know anything about what's going on here, and damn it, why did I agree to this?" Rogers said.

"Because you're a glutton for punishment?" Lennox offered. "You're here, and we're going to have to make the best of the situation. I'm turning you over to Mitchell and Jackson this afternoon."

"I hope not as a test subject," Lennox said.

"Mitchell is, was a pilot at his last posting, and Jackson is a civilian consultant to our unit," Lennox said. "They can explain themselves. And the test subject thing. . .funny you should mention that. . .there has been some talk of letting the Autobot eggheads have a crack at figuring out if they can replicate the serum used on you, but Optimus and I shot that down. We're not supposed to have access to Cybertronian weapons technology, and I'm not going to risk the chance that something of our own could be turned against us if it fell into the wrong hands."

Rogers relaxed a little. Someone with ethics. That was a refreshing change from Fury. But Lennox wasn't done yet.

"You and I need to get a few things straight," Lennox said. "You're going to see a few things that might not sit well with your 1940s sensibilities. These guys don't have the hang-ups about same-sex relationships that some humans still do. There are a couple of bonded pairs among the bots, and they're both mech-mech pairings. Mechs are Cybertronian males, femmes, females. You met Ratchet and Wheeljack, correct?"

"Yeah," Rogers said.

"They're one of the bonded pairs, the other is Perceptor and Blurr," Lennox said. "That's a recent development. You also met Elita, right?"

"Red and black femme?" Rogers said.

"That's her," Lennox said, smiling. "There are two more femmes on base—Chromia and Arcee. Don't let Chromia intimidate you if she gets the chance, and Arcee is a little snippy lately because she's carrying, and she might turn her weapons on anybody who ticks her off."

Rogers raised an eyebrow in question.

"Yeah. . .I should explain, right?" Lennox said.

Rogers nodded in affirmation.

"Bonding is the Cybertronian equivalent of a lifetime commitment. It's just what it says it is—a bond between body, mind and soul. Ratchet can explain it. And Arcee is pregnant, or whatever. God, that pissed off the higher-ups in Washington, too. . .why somebody in this universe thought it was a good idea for Springer to spawn, I don't know. . .Hot Rod's going to be an uncle. . ."

"Are you all right?" Rogers asked.

"Nothing a weekend off and a bottle of whiskey wouldn't cure," Lennox said. "Give me an enemy to fight, and I'm good. All this bureaucratic bullshit is enough to drive a man to drink."

"I know how you feel," Rogers said.

"Figured you would," Lennox said. "You're still one of us, aren't you—just a soldier."

"I guess I am," Rogers said. "Except it's hard to know whose orders to follow these days."

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Cam Mitchell was enjoying himself. Well, as much as he could while baby-sitting a formerly frozen in ice super soldier dating from World War II and running interference with Jackson. The pilot recognized the look in the archaeologist's eye—the look he got when he was dying to start asking questions. Mitchell talked, a lot, answering Rogers' questions about where he grew up, his Air Force career, postings, and enjoyed the Kansas jokes Rogers pulled, although Mitchell identified more with Clark Kent and Superman growing up than Dorothy Gale. Although now, as an adult, Mitchell could definitely sympathize with Dorothy. He'd had plenty of not-in-Kansas-anymore moments during his tenure with the Stargate program.

Now he was sitting by and having lunch with Captain-freaking-America, and well, Steve Rogers was a nice guy. He'd fit in well with NEST if he wanted to stay, but Mitchell doubted that would happen. They could use all the help they could get, but why would Rogers want to stay with their outfit when he could fight with gods from other realms, supergenius playboys and spies?

And they were almost through dessert when Jackson just had to ask. Mitchell took in a deep breath, counting backwards from 10. It was on, and all he could do was go along for the ride.

"So, Thor," Jackson said. "Seriously, he's _the_ Thor? The one from myth and legend?"

"He says he is," Rogers said. "He has the hammer and everything. Like Loki isn't enough evidence?"

"Jackson, maybe the Asgard were copying or something? Isn't Asgard the realm Thor is from?"

"Thor's people are the Aesir," Rogers said. "Yes, Asgard is their home."

Jackson had his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Jackson, breathe or your head is going to explode," Mitchell said.

"Mitchell, shut up," Jackson said. "Capt. Rogers, would it be possible to arrange a meeting with this Thor?"

"I could if we could contact him, but I'm not sure how to do that," Rogers said.

"Jackson, in through your nose, out through your mouth," Mitchell said. "Do you need to see Ratchet?"

"No," Jackson snapped, laying his head down on the table.

"Dr. Jackson, are you all right?" Rogers asked.

"I'll be fine," Jackson said.

Mitchell slapped him on the back. "C'mon, Jackson. Time to head back to base."

Jackson sighed, putting his glasses back on, throwing down money to cover his portion of the meal.

"The gods can't really be real," the archaeologist said, climbing into the backseat of Mitchell's Mustang. "I mean real. . .beyond the real we've already experienced."

"Jackson, you'll figure it out," Mitchell said. "Percy will be glad to help. Maybe Carter can access the core on the Odyssey and find out something useful?"

"You're talking about classified information in front of someone who might not have the security clearance to hear it," Jackson said.

"Like that's stopped you before, and you started it," Mitchell said. "Steve, have you signed a non-disclosure agreement?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Rogers said.

"There, now you know," Mitchell said, starting up the car.

Jackson glared, but he let it drop.

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1830, and Rogers was sitting on a picnic table outside the main hangar, staring off into the distance. Mitchell or someone was supposed to give him a ride back into town, but he really didn't care. So much to assimilate, and not much time to do it. Maybe he wasn't the one for the job. Stark would've been a better fit, with the technology and everything. Or not. That was probably why he was sitting where he was, waiting, sleeves rolled up, wondering for the millionth time what the hell he was doing. Well, it sure beat the hell out of sitting in a briefing at SHIELD headquarters in New York, trying to figure out all the cloak and dagger stuff. This, he could deal with.

Except he heard the noise he now associated with Cybertronian footsteps, although these were muted, like the being making them wasn't as big as the rest. He turned around, seeing Elita-1 coming out of the hangar.

"Busy day?" the femme asked, hands on hips, head tilted, much like a human female.

"Yes, ma'am," Rogers said.

"Call me Elita," she said. "I hope you weren't overwhelmed today."

"A little," Rogers said. "It's a lot to take in."

"For you, much more than the other humans," she said. "Chosen for something that separated you from the rest. Much like Optimus."

"I don't know about that," Rogers said.

"It's why you're here," Elita said. "You can offer the other humans a perspective they can understand."

"I hope you're right," Rogers said. "I always seem to be walking into situations where the odds are riding on me."

The femme's expression changed to what he assumed was the Cybertronian version of a smile.

"Yet you haven't broken," she said. "Humans are a valiant species. I'm proud to know you."

"Thanks," Rogers said.

"Mitchell is running late, and won't be able to give you a ride," Elita said. "You need transport, so I volunteer."

"You don't have to," Rogers said.

"Of those on base, my sisters and I possess modes that you will be most comfortable with, but as Arcee is carrying, and Chromia has assumed the duties of weapons officer, it falls to me," Elita said. "I won't mind playing guardian for a few days."

She transformed into her vehicular mode, and Rogers grinned. He stood, put on his jacket, slinging a leg over the motorcycle.

"Hold on," Elita said.

Rogers did as he was told, and not even the wind howling in his face could wipe the smile off his lips.


End file.
